I can’t keep a silly grin off my face. I enjoyed the movie, but what I loved most about our date was how Dylan shared something with me that was important to him. The atmosphere at Art Hill was perfect. It gave us time to get to know each other—maybe more than we should have in a public place. I touch my lips, remembering that first kiss.
And the second when he dropped me off at home, a goodnight kiss that lingered on my lips as I snuggled into my pillow and dreamed of our next date. He may not have put all my worries to rest, but he definitely left me with pleasant dreams.
I’m anxious to start drafting my first article for the Parkwood Press, but I’m also due for a visit with Grandma Elaine, so Mom and Dad drop me off Saturday morning. Grandma has the TV on when I come in, and this is more how I remember Grandma’s house. It’s Wheel of Fortune. I glance at the clock on the wall. “Since when do they show Wheel of Fortune at eleven thirty in the morning?”
Grandma tries to rise from her chair, the tension visible on her face as her arm muscles strain with the effort.
I rush forward and kiss her cheek. “Don’t get up.”
She relaxes against the seat. “My legs just don’t work the way they used to.”
I noticed. I mean, she uses a walker. But still. Grandma used to walk five miles every morning, and now it takes her thirty seconds just to stand up.
“Game Show Network,” she says.
“What?”
“Game shows all day long. That’s why Wheel of Fortune’s on.”
I smirk. “Sounds like cheating. Haven’t you already seen, like, every episode?”
Grandma reaches for a crochet project on the end table beside her and begins weaving the needle in and out. She looks at me over the top of her glasses. “You think I have a photographic memory?”
“It doesn’t seem to be suffering too much.”
She smiles and taps her temple with the pointer finger of the hand not holding the crochet needle. “I’m sharp enough.”
Thank goodness for that. As much as I hate seeing her diminished physical state, if I had to choose, I’d definitely prefer alert and all-there Grandma over spry Grandma. I wonder if she feels the same, but it doesn’t seem like an appropriate question to ask.
“Can we switch to the news at noon, though? ’Cause Agent Klein and Captain McCoy are holding the press conference about our test results.”
Grandma crochets several stitches, as if she’s unsure. “I suppose.”
Crocheting is silent work, so for a few moments the only sound is the background of the wheel spinning, contestants calling out consonants and buying vowels, and dings as Vanna White reveals letters. I wonder how much plastic surgery Pat Sajak and Vanna White have had to still look basically the same after twenty-five years, unless this is a really old episode. I’m trying to figure out the solution to a food and beverage puzzle when Grandma speaks again.
“Tell me what’s new in your life.”
Based on the teasing glint in her eye, I’m sure Mom told her about Dylan, but it’s fun to make her wait for the information she really wants. “Well. I have an appointment with the school counselor Monday to talk about college.”
“And?” Grandma sets her crocheting down and focuses her entire attention on me.
“There are a lot of options out there. I don’t think I want to go to Columbia anymore.”
She smiles gently. “Because of your grandparents?”
“Partly. It’s not the same without them there, but I’m also just not sure I could do that flight to New York again.”
Grandma nods. “That’s understandable.”
“And then there’s you and my parents, not to mention Bradley and his family.”
Grandma Elaine is in her nineties. I have so little time left with her. My parents are in their sixties and showing it. Bradley doesn’t need me, but I’d like to get to know my adult brother, as well as Kelly, and to be around for Kira and Eli.
“Those are some big considerations,” she says, and I know she gets it. “Do you still want to write for the New York Times?”
I sniff. “It might be the only paper left by the time I finish college.”
“Don’t give up hope, Jenny. You never know when your hand might come up all aces and kings.”
Sure this is another bridge reference, I just nod.
Grandma raises an eyebrow. “Anything else you want to tell me about?”
So much for distracting her. I shake my head. “I went on a date with Dylan last night.”
“You like him.”
I can’t hide my grin. “I do, Grandma. Is it too weird?”
Her own smile isn’t judgmental or hesitant. “Carol says he’s a nice boy.”
“He is …” I glance at the clock. “Hey, it’s twelve oh five. Time for the news!”
Grandma tilts her head. “Hmm.”
“Grandma! I really want to see the statement.” And avoid discussing Dylan with Grandma. Forever. I’m glad it’s dim in the apartment because I’m sure my cheeks are bright red. It’s like everyone’s on a mission to embarrass me.
“If that’s more important to you, dear.”
Grandma changes the channel. It’s a weather report, which is pretty pointless at this time of year (it’s hovering in the nineties and so humid you shouldn’t bother styling your hair in any way), followed by a report about a house fire downtown and a police chase. Finally it switches to the airport. Agent Klein stands at a podium in another black pantsuit, Captain McCoy off to the side in his pilot uniform. Microphones from all the major news stations are attached to the podium, including from national outlets like CNN and MSNBC. Grandma and I both lean toward the TV.
“Thank you for coming today,” Agent Klein says. “Our team of medical professionals and scientists have analyzed the results of all seventy-two passengers and crew from Flight 237.”
I pull out my phone and open a text message to Art: Did you know they were testing all 72?
Art: They can’t rule out a hoax without including every single person on the plane, Einstein.
Me:
I don’t know why I assumed it was just the people in St. Louis, but it makes sense—
“Look at you on your phone,” Grandma says. “Just like Brad when he comes over!”
I look up and notice Grandma has paused the news. “Sorry, Grandma.”
“It’s okay. Are you ready for me to start this up again?”
“Sure.” But I hold on to the phone.
She hits Play, and Agent Klein begins speaking again.
“We appreciate their cooperation. After CAT scans, MRIs, DNA comparisons with family members, blood tests to determine their ages, and other proprietary tests—”
Me: Proprietary tests? What does that mean?
“—we’ve determined the passengers and crew of Flight 237 are the same seventy-two people who boarded the plane on August 2, 1995. There is no evidence their bodies underwent any biological manipulations or engineering.”
Art: Things they did with our blood and DNA that you *don’t* want to know about.
“Regarding the plane, we’re also satisfied that it was not tampered with in any way. However, in order to put all public questions to rest, we will allow outside access to an independent testing company.”
Me: Maybe I do.
“We continue to search for answers regarding why Flight 237 leaped forward in time, but we’ve concluded those answers do not lie with the plane itself or the people who were on it.”
Art: Learn to live with disappointment.
Me: Talk to the hand.
Art: 
“At this time, Captain Frank McCoy would like to speak on behalf of the crew and passengers of Flight 237.”
Captain McCoy nods at Agent Klein and moves into position. “Thank you,” he says. “As Agent Klein stated, I speak for the crew and passengers of Mid-States Airways Flight 237. We understand that the world wants answers, that some of you are scared or concerned about our presence in this century. We’re scared and concerned too, and we’re just as baffled by what happened on August second. We all boarded a plane, followed our flight plan, and somewhere over St. Louis airspace, our plane jumped ahead twenty-five years. We did not encounter any turbulence, only a flicker of lights.”
Me: I forgot about the lights!
“We did not notice anything out of the ordinary on our equipment. No flux capacitor next to the altitude indicator.” Captain McCoy smiles, and Grandma and I chuckle along with the reporters at the Back to the Future reference. It’s nice to be in on a joke again.
Art: Frank’s been watching more than the Syfy channel …
“The FBI won’t release our private information, but many of my fellow crew and passengers have agreed to make their medical results public to further reassure you. Because we have nothing to hide.”
Art: Except Walter …
Me: Good point. What do you think he did with those results he took?
Captain McCoy spreads his arms wide, then lets them fall and leans toward the microphones. “But those who don’t? It’s because they’re hurting. They’ve lost loved ones, had their lives turned upside down, and are just trying to figure out where they fit into this new world we landed in.”
Art: Probably shredded them.
Me: Made a bonfire.
Art: Ritual sacrifice to the cloud gods who dumped us here.
Okay, that one’s just bizarre.
“So please don’t harass them. I understand you’re curious and you want to know what it’s like adapting to life in a new century, but we appreciate you giving us time. I’ll take a few questions now.”
He points toward a reporter, who asks, “PATROL has been receiving tips on its website. One suggests the plane was stored and preserved on a property in rural Kansas for the past twenty-five years. What’s your response?”
Art: Hilarious!
Me: Ridiculous!
“I just told you I was flying that plane without interruption. Unless this person has an explanation for how my memory could be altered—and the memories of every person on that plane—to believe that I was on a continuous flight from New York to St. Louis …” Captain McCoy shakes his head. “Furthermore, I reject the notion that you could ‘preserve’ ”—he makes air quotes—“a plane for twenty-five years without it showing any rust or wear and send it up into the air at the exact spot where it disappeared. That’s some magic trick. But if the person with the tip can produce some sort of evidence …”
Me: Nailed it!
“Next question?” he says, signaling to another reporter.
“Will you fly again?”
Art: Yep!
Me: Really?
Captain McCoy sighs. “Well, MSA doesn’t exist anymore. But I’m looking into what’s changed and what I need to do to get back in the air. I love flying. So it’s not out of the question.”
“Brave man,” Grandma says.
“Yeah,” I say, thinking about Art too. Captain McCoy’s determination to return to work reminds me about some news he called me with this morning.
Me: By the way, good news! Agent Klein cleared my articles for the school paper.
Art: 
Captain McCoy calls for another question.
“We understand you’ve formed a support group. What can you tell us about how people are doing? Like the Springs or Jenny Waters?”
The TV clicks off abruptly.
I whirl on Grandma. “Why’d you do that?”
“It’s not good to watch things about yourself in the media.”
My phone buzzes with another message from Art, but I focus on Grandma. She starts crocheting again, avoiding my eyes. I’m tempted to go over there and stick my face in hers so she can’t escape my death stare. I thought we were done with this hiding-the-news-from-Jenny crap.
“I can just find it online later. I know better now.” Although I’m not sure I will. I doubt Captain McCoy said anything other than “Buzz off,” except in a nice way.
“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should,” Grandma says.
“Why are you so stubborn?” I ask.
Grandma laughs. “It’s what keeps me alive. I’m too stubborn to die yet.”
I stiffen. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Jenny, if you can’t joke about death when you’re my age, you might as well give up.”
“But you’re not supposed to be this age,” I whisper.
“Let’s go for a walk.” Grandma sets her yarn aside and begins pushing herself up toward her walker.
I jump to my feet. “No, Grandma! It’s okay.”
She stares at me sternly. “I may not be power walking every morning, but I still need my exercise. So you get the door. I’ll introduce you to some of my neighbors.”
Grandma’s right. I can’t keep dwelling on how old she is. Instead I should focus on where we are now.
That press conference was a step in the right direction. Captain McCoy handled it like a pro. PATROL has to back off now that our test results are out in the open.